


touch and figure it out

by jaekyu



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Car Sex, Casual Sex, Hotel Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 03:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14991968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaekyu/pseuds/jaekyu
Summary: now, if we’re talking body -Or; Five Places Johnny and Jaehyun had sex.





	touch and figure it out

**Author's Note:**

> y'all ever not post fic for months and return with what is basically 2k of softcore porn? no? just me? 
> 
> hope y'all at least somewhat enjoy this mess.

bodies, let's use them up 'til every little piece is gone  
(tove lo)

 

 

 

#

 

 

They don’t call it accidents: the word still applies culpability. It’s the thing you were actively trying not to let come to fruition sneaking up on you, and you call it an accident to make it easier to swallow. And yet your belly fills all the same because all the evidence remains.

They treat them more as: Some Things That Happened. As if the universe was going to make it so, with or without them, and they had no choice but to comply.

They don’t focus on it. The stuff you focus on has this habit of just expanding.

 

 

#

 

 

The problem with point a and point b has always been the lack of a step by step process to follow.

 

 

#

 

 

**i. riding in cars with boys**

 

Light pollution bleeds into the black ink of the sky. Makes it all look like an old photo blown out at the edges, tendrils of light reaching for the yolk of it; waiting to break open the shell of darkness and starlight to reveal day.

Jaehyun looks especially pale in the half light of a streetlamp. His veins drink in the light and reflect it back out, humming under his flesh - radioactive. He and Johnny share the driver’s seat, crammed pelvis to pelvis, and every exhale between them mingles.

They’re both still wearing pants (Jaehyun’s shirt is gone, discarded into a heap on the passenger seat and forgotten, Johnny’s button down is open and spread apart to reveal the plains of his chest and abdomen) but Jaehyun rocks down against Johnny like they aren’t. It’s a pantomime of fucking, ugly and dirty on purpose. A if-we-had-time kind of gesture, a we-could-get-caught kind of feeling.

It’s juvenile. It’s so fucking high school, parked on the side of the road, car turned off with the radio still going and half undressed. Just rutting against each other, all dry and rough. The sound of denim against denim, made into long run on sentences and punctuated by harsh breaths.

Knowing you’re not making it all the way but wanting to try anyway.

(Johnny had spun his keys on his ring finger, “need a ride?”

“Oh?” Jaehyun had faked surprise, voice dripping sugary sweet. “You’re going my way?”

What way? This way:)

Jaehyun braces his folded arms against the car ceiling above him. He presses himself down harder against Johnny, stretches out his torso, and shivers when Johnny splays both of his hands on the skin that Jaehyun’s ribs push against. His thumb reaches up and ghosts over Jaehyun’s nipple.

Then Johnny coaxes Jaehyun along. “Good,” he says, “just like that,” he says, “do you wish I was fucking you right now?” He asks.

“Yes,” Jaehyun replies, half a whine and half a heavy sigh. His whole body is strained; his arms ache pushed against the ceiling, his thighs ache bracketing Johnny’s own like a pair of parentheses, his flanks ache from being stretched. Jaehyun likes it, though. He likes the feeling of every part of him is being pulled taut, like a string about to snap. It’s all a matter of time, it’s all about how far Johnny wants to pull him in either direction.

Jaehyun wants things too. Mostly, he wants to make Johnny come in his pants, through a combination of visuals and friction pushing him to the edge. So Jaehyun messes his own hair up so it falls into his eyes, pants harder so Johnny can see the rise and fall of his chest, and rolls his hips hard and low against Johnny’s, feeling his cock pressing against his jeans.

Johnny sucks in a breath through his nose. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes speak.

_You’re so fucking nasty._

And Jaehyun’s mouth quirks up at the corner and replies, _I know_.

 

 

( - )

 

 

**ii. of all the gin joints**

 

Johnny smells like aftershave applied hours ago.

Jaehyun’s nose is pressed into the curve of Johnny’s neck. He darts his tongue against Johnny’s pulse point and tastes it. Like he’s lifting sugar off a spoonful that’s meant to share; just a splash for the sweetness but enough moisture for it to start to melt.

Aftershave and gin, that’s what that is. Pine and spice, not sweet at all. Turns out that’s where the analogy ends. Jaehyun runs his tongue on Johnny’s throat again and swears he could drink it, it’s so potent.

Outside the door the DJ’s playing The Weeknd, _I’m trying to put you in the worst mood, ah_

Jaehyun stands between Johnny’s legs, one thigh slid between both of Johnny’s. When they kiss it’s messy. Too wet and at the wrong angle but Jaehyun’s hammered and Johnny’s hammered and it doesn’t really matter.

“I’m gonna suck you off,” Jaehyun says. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s on his knees between Johnny’s still spread apart legs, wrestling with his belt buckle. “Can’t wait for your dick to fill my mouth up.”

Johnny was gripping the edge of the row of sinks, for awhile now, but he lifts a hand to scrub it over his face and sigh. “Fuck,” he says, “at least it’ll keep you quiet for a bit.”

Jaehyun smiles, a cat who caught the canary, and pulls Johnny’s pants down around his thighs.

Johnny smells less like aftershave and alcohol down here; down here it’s all sweat and salt and musk.

 

 

( - )

 

 

**iii. do not disturb**

 

Jaehyun doesn’t ask for things. Not with words at least.

He always wants faux coyness, he always wants to bat his eyelashes and act like he doesn’t know what’s going on. He wants the innocence, the startled kind of pleasure you feel in the pit of your stomach, the way someone presses their hands into you that you didn’t know you wanted until it happened, and then it was all you could think about. Jaehyun wants plenty of things; but mostly he wants Johnny to give him all these things without him having to ask for them.

And Johnny? Johnny wants to make him work for it.

“Do I push your buttons?”

Jaehyun’s laying face down in the ugly hotel sheets. They’re wrinkling around the press of his cheek, his elbows, his knees. His hips don’t touch the mattress, though - they’re caught in Johnny’s hand, lifted by him so his cock sits untouched between his legs.

“Fuck you.”

Johnny’s left hand descends, from Jaehyun’s hip bone to the soft skin of his thighs, the curve of his ass. Jaehyun shivers and he aches. He aches with want and he aches with it _everywhere_.

They can’t trace how they end up places like here: Johnny’s car, the bathroom in a club, a motel on the edge of the highway at two in the morning, the closest one to the bar they took the taxi cab from. They have the beginning and there is always an end, of course, but somewhere in the plateau and denouement they lose the plot. They don’t make much of an effort to find it, though.

The Not-Quite-Accidents.

A car passes by on the highway and the headlights shine through the open slits, mixing with moonlight to cage them.

 

 

( - )

 

 

**iv. apartment story**

 

There are certain luxuries you don’t miss until they are gone. In this situation: a comfortable bed, sheets that you know where they’ve been, a bedside lamp that keeps the room darker than usual, but is bright enough to expose the curves and angles of a body. Bright enough to cast scandalous shadows.

Jaehyun sits astride Johnny’s thighs. His chest is blotchy; red and purple, flushed with bite marks and imprints of fingernails. His arms shine with sweat. His thumb pushes it’s way past Johnny’s lips and into his mouth.

Johnny presses the sharpness of his teeth into the pad of Jaehyun’s thumbs, drags it along like he’s trying to get the last remnants of a fruit off of it’s peel. Only the taste isn’t sweet, just salt and musk. Johnny doesn’t need it sweet, though.

He pushes his hips up to meet Jaehyun’s in a messy thrust. They’re naked; they don’t usually get to this point. There has been hurried moments with pants half-undone, cock’s just pulled out of underwear, maybe the bottoms were around someone’s ankles but they still had a shirt on. Or the shirt was open. Or something.

There are certain luxuries you don’t realize you miss until they are gone.

Johnny takes ahold of Jaehyun’s wrist, directs Jaehyun’s thumb in and out of his mouth in a pantomime of fucking; _this is how good I give it to you, this is how good you’ll take it_. Slow and smooth, or faster with maybe a little more teeth.

They take their time in the walls of Johnny’s bedroom. Of all the places they exist like this, it’s the quietest.

Jaehyun hisses when Johnny bites down hard on his thumb and leans over to replace it with his tongue and mouth.

 

 

( - )

 

 

**v. pillow talk**

 

This part is different from the others. We’ve taken polaroids in the darkness of night, flash on and bright like a crime scene - but here, we have this one.

This one is in the late morning sunlight.

Johnny rolls over and opens his phone and it tells him it’s nearly 11AM. Outside, summer breathes humidity into every window. Jaehyun, asleep next to Johnny, is sun-golden and warm, damp on places like the planes of his chest, dips of his hip bones, his forehead.

Johnny kisses Jaehyun’s shoulder and it tastes like salt. Later, when Johnny pins Jaehyun against the pillow after they've eaten breakfast, he'll taste much more sweet.

 

 

#

 

 

(We understand there are pieces of this story that you are missing.

We want you to understand that the pins in the board will sometimes mean more than the threads that connect them.)

 

 

 

_on & on & on _

**Author's Note:**

> if you love me riiiiight, we fuck for liiiiife.


End file.
